


lessons learned

by ScreechTheMighty



Series: One is Quick, the Other's Tall [1]
Category: Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: (even though I have never played that game), Abusive Parents, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Car Accident mention, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fake Marriage, Family Member Death, Gaslighting, Gen, I also never played Titanfall One so, Mild canon divergence, One single reference to The Wolf Among Us, Physical Abuse, Swearing, Trust Issues, heavy use of headcanons, making up backstory for side characters, no beta reader we die like men, shout out to GamersLittlePlayground on YouTube for assembling the "cut scenes" into one video, wrote this instead of sleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScreechTheMighty/pseuds/ScreechTheMighty
Summary: It's all the same lesson, really: you can't trust anyone 100%.Better not to trust at all.(OR a ten-part essay about why Barker is Like That.)





	1. you can't trust dad

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, fair warning, this one is a major bummer because I'm a bad person. Heed the warnings, let me know if you think I need to add more or change the rating, and sorry for the Feels Trip.

Barker had always wondered why he, the second-born son of the family, was named after his father. That seemed more like something you did with your firstborn. He had to wait until he was twelve and Dad was drunk before he got an explanation: Dad had never been convinced firstborn Parker was his kid, and he wasn’t going to name a possible bastard after him.

That made sense, based on what Barker knew about his parents’ relationship. But he wasn’t sure he could trust it, either.

The thing about Dad was that he forgot a lot. Robert Sr.’s alcohol-induced blackouts were frequent and messy. Things were said, items were broken, arguments were had, but then everything was denied once it was over. It would have been easy for Barker to start questioning his understanding of reality. Dad’s drunken rants were the right mixture of truth and lie to make it hard to tell which was which, and the blanket denial of both didn’t help.

So, Barker did the only thing he could: he stopped trusting a word his dad said, drunk _or_ sober. It made things easier. It helped him stay sane.

Beyond that, Dad didn’t do much. He went to work, he came home, he drank. Sometimes he got blackout drunk and things got ugly, but other times he just fell asleep on the sofa with the TV on. This regular cycle was the only dependable thing about him; aside from sleeping in the same house, he was never _there._ He wasn’t around for school, to teach Barker to drive, to give advice, to do anything a father should do.

There were small moments that felt like he was trying to be a father, like dinners made when Mom was too wasted to cook, stories told when Barker was a kid, small moments of encouragement about half the times Barker brought home a good grade. But those dried up by the time Barker was a teenager. Besides, most of the time, Dad was drunk when they happened. So it might as well not have happened at all.


	2. you can't trust mom

Dad wasn’t the only one who lied. The only difference between him and Mom was that Mom didn’t get black out before she did it. Oh, she got drunk, sometimes even black out drunk, and that didn’t help. But she didn’t need that to lie, to yell, to throw things.

She didn’t need to be black out to tell him that she’d get him after school, then leave him to walk home.

She didn’t need to be black out to forget to feed him, or tell him to feed himself if he was so hungry.

She didn’t need to be black out to lose her shit over anything he did that could be _remotely_ construed as insulting, to make _everything_ an ordeal, and to only be calmed down by apologies that weren’t owed her. Parker and Christian were better at faking contrition. Barker couldn’t pull it off. That’s probably why he wasn’t the favorite child.

She didn’t need to be black out to take his things and sell them for money, or break them and throw them in the garbage while he was at school because of some slight he’d forgotten (or one that may never have happened in the first place).  He learned pretty quickly to hide anything that might be valuable, especially cash. Again: not the favorite child.

She didn’t need to be black out to do a lot of things; in fact, Barker was pretty sure her issues ran deeper than just six beers a day (or more if she was binge drinking). She had a narcissistic mean streak that probably would’ve been fixable if she had any intention of getting help. But Mom didn’t, because in her eyes she was always the victim, and everyone else was wrong. Including Barker.

_Especially_ Barker.

He sometimes wondered if she would’ve handed over the keys if anyone else in the family had asked her to. But that night, it was him asking, which lead to a screaming match about how he had no right to accuse her of being drunk, and anyway, what was he going to do? Drive to get Parker himself? He wasn’t old enough to drive. She was fine. Not like that deadbeat _Robert,_ passed out on the couch like he was.

Sure, she was right: Dad was wiped out again, in no state to drive. Mom was at least awake.

But she didn’t need to be black out drunk for it to be unsafe for her to drive.


	3. you can trust parker

On the outside, Parker was the least fucked up person in the family. He was reliable, polite, sweet, and a good brother.

But Barker always thought that made him the _most_ fucked up of the three Taube boys.

Barker and Christian were the difficult ones: Barker the sullen underachiever who was good at school but bad at social interactions, Christian the obvious problem child who took out his frustration at his parents on his teachers and other authority figures. Neither of them could be described as stable, but with the home life they had, how _could_ they be? They were acting out as a result of the bullshit they’ve been through. It was logical.

Parker, meanwhile, barely reacted to being ignored (or, perhaps, hated) by Dad and constantly berated and walked all over by Mom. He wasn’t spared any of the bullshit, so it wasn’t like he was less damaged. He just pushed it down well enough to be a functional person. It was no healthier than Christian starting fights or Barker not having friends.

Barker should’ve been worried about him more. But mostly he was grateful. Parker was the real parent of the house, making sure that he and Christian were fed, comforting them after nightmares, making sure that they got to school on time. He did his best to get them out of the line of sight when Mom and Dad were having another fight, or to deflect blame away from them when something went wrong. It didn’t always work, but Barker appreciated the effort.

The sad and fucked up part was that he was only two years older than Barker—still a kid himself. He couldn’t drink, vote, or drive, but he could step in and take a slap for his brothers. He could make pancakes and hide how many beer bottles their parents threw out on a regular basis. He could _be there,_ and be the only dependable person Barker had in his life.

But he was gone, dead at seventeen in a car crash, because it had been too far to walk home from work and their mother had been too intoxicated to drive.

So it didn’t matter if Barker could trust him or not.


	4. you can't trust christian

Barker and Christian were Irish twins, barely a year apart, but Christian was the younger one. That meant Barker was responsible for him, though he didn’t always know how to deal with that. They had their disagreements, but Barker tried. _Fuck,_ he tried, especially after what happened with Parker. Mom went to jail after pleading guilty (probably so she’d get a reduced sentence, not because she actually _felt_ guilty) and Dad in no way stepped up to the plate afterwards. That left a fifteen year old and a fourteen year old to essentially fend for themselves.

They scraped by, barely, though between the two of them they missed enough school that graduating would probably be out of the question. But since that was the worst thing they had going for them for those two years, Barker considered them lucky.

Then Mom only got two years before being let out on probation for “good behavior.” And then things got bad, again. If anything, her two-year absence made her behavior feel worse. It had given Barker some perspective on how much of the problem she really was.

They formulated the plan not long after her return. All they had to do was get enough money and wait until Barker turned eighteen, in case he had to make a case for legal guardianship. Then they could finally get out of that house, away from Dad, away from Mom, away from the shadow Parker left behind after his death. They’d be _free_ of this bullshit. All they had to do was hold on.

But they didn’t make it.

They didn’t make it because Mom and Dad hit another rough patch. Because at some point a screaming match turned to things being thrown at Christian, then physical blows when Barker stepped in to try and stop it. Barker should have known something was wrong when Christian refused to open the door later. “We’ll get out,” Barker promised him quietly, his cheek still throbbing from the slap he’d received. “We’re so close. We just have to hold on.”

Christian couldn’t hold on.

On some level, Barker got that. He had wanted to walk right out the door that night, too, but he couldn’t. He knew they had to stick to the plan if they both wanted out. He wasn’t leaving Christian. He couldn’t leave Christian.

But apparently, Christian could leave him, because the next morning the money they’d been saving was gone. So was his brother.

Mom and Dad never bothered looking for him.


	5. you can't trust aunt kaite

When Barker was a kid, he stayed with his dad’s sister for a few weeks. Aside from the fact that she and his dad had the same hair, Barker had no idea how they could be related. She wasn’t a drunk. She had a stable marriage to a guy with a normal job. They had two kids—little cousins that looked at Barker like he was an animal in a zoo.

Dad hadn’t talked about her before that visit. He didn’t talk about her much after they left.

She came by once after, sticking around for one evening while she had dinner with them. There had been an argument, as always, which ended the evening pretty quickly. After that, there were a few phone calls, and then several phone calls that Barker wasn’t involved in because it was about money or something. He was pretty sure the cops had gotten involved, but whenever he tried to ask Mom she’d just say that Aunt Katie was a lying bitch, don’t mention her again.

So, he didn’t.

The next time he spoke to her was after Christian left. He’d called to see if she’d seen him. She hadn’t. Barker explained the situation, right down to the slap. Aunt Katie was silent on the other end. “I can’t stay here,” Barker remembered saying. “I can’t do this anymore. Do you…have space?”

For a while, Aunt Katie didn’t say anything. When she spoke, her voice was hesitant. “Robert, I don’t know if that’s…”

Barker hung up.

It was fine. He would be eighteen soon. He could figure things out on his own.

He didn’t have any choice.


	6. you probably can't trust vic

The shared experience of being drunks and the children of assholes was probably a shitty foundation for a friendship. But Victoria Jo (or Vic, as he called her) was one of the only people in his Alcoholics Anonymous group with his (bitter, cynical) sense of humor, so they hit it off pretty well.

There was nothing going on between them, no thirteenth step or whatever you wanted to call it. They really were just friends, friends with similar shitty circumstances and shitty lives. It was that shared misery that drove them to look into the IMC’s Frontier Colonization effort. Barker might’ve had a GED and a history of alcoholism, but apparently that mattered less when you were joining their private military. Victoria had a better education, Bachelor’s with a Master’s almost finished when they first met, but she was an _artist._ They weren’t looking for artists in space. Practical skills only. She could learn, but that would take too long. Her parents were still in the picture, and it was really testing her sobriety to have them checking in all the time. You knew someone had shitty parents when their level of narcissism made Barker’s mother look sane and stable. Victoria nearly relapsed twice in a month from how many times they were asking about her career. Getting her as far away as possible was serious business.

Victoria and Barker spent an entire night thinking of ways to get her on that ship with him. Somewhere during their brainstorming about where to get fake certificates (anything from educational to adoption papers, as immediate family could come with), he mentioned, “Honestly? It’d probably be easier and cheaper if we got married.”

He’d been joking at first, but they quickly realized that his joke had a point.

That was how he ended up married on paper and going to space with a woman he didn’t really love. He _liked_ her well enough. But he didn’t love her. Hell, he couldn’t even bring himself to trust her.

It wasn’t anything personal. The worst thing she’d ever done to him was call him some mildly insulting names, but they were all true assessments so he couldn’t resent her for it. She did try to be there if he needed a meeting or some basic validation that his childhood had, in fact, been shit; if she ever _couldn’t_ be there, it was because she had her own shit going on, not because she didn’t care. That made her more reliable than anyone in his life but Parker. And yeah, she’d done a few arguably messed up things when she was still drinking, but so had he. That didn’t make her a bad person—or if she was, she wasn’t any worse than him.

But he’d thought the same thing about Christian once. If he couldn’t trust his own brother, how in the hell was he supposed to trust her?

He couldn’t say that it put a damper on their relationship; they both knew where they stood and what the other’s damage was. It was a sham marriage designed to get her out of a shit situation. Barker was fine with it. She was fine with it, and didn’t resent him for his trust issues. Everything was fine. They hadn’t even meant to stay married once they arrived at the Frontier.

If he _did_ end up having to list her as a spouse in every piece of paperwork he filled out once he was there, it was entirely out of forgetfulness. There was too much going on for them to get a divorce.

Especially once the Titan Wars kicked off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True story, Victoria's name in my head was originally Amelie, but I have another female OC for my Titanfall canon with an A-name, so I changed it as I was doing edits. Also, I picture Vic looking like Sandra Oh.


	7. you can trust juliet

EJ-1563. Echo Juliet. Julie.

Stryder-Class, top of the line at the time. She quickly became one of a kind, because Barker, as it turned out, had a taste for speed and flying, and the IMC needed _someone_ to test those flying Titan prototypes. She was fast, she was mean, and she was one of the longest-lived Titans in the fleet.

Barker couldn’t take all the credit for that, though. Julie was a good partner—an _effective_ partner, lethal and _smart._ More than that, she was his friend. He was sure people would say he was insane for thinking that of a Titan. Most people in the IMC treated them like big, especially fancy guns. But most people in the IMC were idiots. If they’d given a shit about their fucking property, they might have noticed that these things were smarter than they looked.

Or maybe that was just her. Maybe she was the only Titan in the fleet who asked questions about life outside the hanger, asked him how he was feeling and meant it, talked to MRVNs, and remembered songs he liked. She was one of a kind, after all.

To top it all off, she was probably the only person in the world who couldn’t betray him, even if she wanted to. It was easy to trust someone when they were programmed to support and protect you no matter what. Still, if he was being honest, sometimes he thought he’d be able to trust her without the programming.

But she was gone too, destroyed while distracting the enemy forces so he could get away. So it didn’t matter if he could trust her or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The IMC, small brains: Titans are just disposable tools.
> 
> Barker, a galaxy brain: Titans are shaped like a friend.


	8. you can't trust the imc

The Titan Wars took their toll—Juliet, his knee, a shot to the chest while he was at it, his self-respect, and his mental health (not that it was ever good to begin with). Barker may have signed on for fighting, but he hadn’t signed on to start stupid fights in the name of the IMC’s greed. They were driving people from their homes, bombing the shit out of facilities that could probably be taken easily with foot soldiers, and going up against farmers with sub-par guns. Sure, sometimes the various rebellion groups shot first, but that didn’t stop Barker from asking why they weren’t just sitting down and _talking_ to these people. Seemed like they could avoid a lot of fights if they did.

He only ever got one answer: _We don’t negotiate with terrorists._ As if most of the people he encountered were anything but scared and confused civilians who wanted to keep their homes.

He pushed back as best he could, tried to argue for reason whenever he could, let things slide with the citizens of the Frontier whenever possible, but it did nothing. He vented to Mac as often as he could, a man who had the ear of Admiral Graves, but it did nothing. Apparently word that he asked questions got around, and before the end, people were looking at him like _he_ was the bad guy. It was his mother all over again.

And to think he’d come out here to get _away_ from this kind of shit.

It was almost a relief when they cut him loose. Now he wouldn’t have to deal with the bullshit anymore. He didn’t know what he was going to do, but a lot of people were going into mercenary work. He wasn’t sure about that—the prospect of going back into a fight without Julie made his stomach turn—but it was an option. One thing he knew for sure: he’d think of something.

He always did.

But then, just as he was starting to adjust to the idea of being away from the IMC, he got dragged back in. Unexpectedly. In the middle of the night.

The first thing they asked him was where James MacAllen was.

Just one problem: Barker had no idea.


	9. you can't trust macallen

Mac was a bleeding heart son of a bitch too empathetic for his own good.

Barker had always known that; it was an integral part of their friendship. Barker brought cynical realism to the table, while Mac balanced things out with occasional reminders that there was more to the galaxy than Barker’s paranoid delusions that everyone was out to get him. It had worked out, somehow; Mac was a hell of a wingman, and they worked together well. Barker might even admit to them being friends, if he were feeling sappy.

But he wasn’t feeling sappy at ass o’clock in the morning after being dragged to an IMC facility to answer some questions about the man.

It took a lot of yelling, and a lot of repeating that _he did not know where MacAllen was,_ they hadn’t spoken in a few weeks, why the _hell_ were they asking him about Mac, before someone finally told him what had happened. Mac had commandeered the _Odyssey._ Just run off with the whole fucking ship. Graves said he’d taken it by force. They were trying to figure out where he might be going.

“You and MacAllen were friends, right?” asked the IMC officer in what he probably thought was a reasonable tone. “He must’ve told you _something_.”

“He didn’t tell me _shit._ ”

“Lieutenant Taube, I find that hard to-“

“Don’t fucking _Lieutenant_ me. I’m not with you anymore. You people made sure of that.”

The officer leaned forward and dropped the Mr. Nice Guy pretense. “ _Mister_ Taube. We find it very hard to believe, and are considering you a potential accessory to _mutiny_. Do you understand?”

“I understand just fine, shithead. Which is why I can account for the fact that _I’ve been in Angel City trying to get my shit back together after you people dumped me._ ”

And he could: Barker had dates, locations, security cameras they could check, card transactions they could look for, and plenty of witnesses, including his “wife.” The officer looked shocked, even more so when it all checked out. Barker was almost offended. It was like they didn’t know him at all.

He called Mac twice: once under the scrutiny of the IMC, and then again later by methods that the IMC didn’t know about. Mac didn’t answer either time.

Barker tried again a few days later. Still nothing.

He tried a third time, this time leaving a message.

“Mac, I don’t know what the fuck you did, but the IMC is pissed…where the _fuck_ did you go? Why didn’t you tell me?” He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did you think that I was going to rat you out? I’m _insulted_.”

He was trying to joke, but it came out forced. Angry. Because he _was_ angry.

“Look, wherever you are, just…tell me what happened, okay? You know how to contact me.”

He waited.

Nothing.

Barker didn’t want to try again. He didn’t want to sound desperate, though he had a feeling he’d sound more pissed than desperate. If Mac wanted to talk to him, he’d call. Simple as that.

But, in the end, Barker called one more time.

He blamed it on the alcohol.

He couldn’t blame falling off the wagon after several years of sobriety on Mac—well, he could, but it wasn’t _just_ Mac. It was Mac, the fact that the IMC had kept contacting him for weeks, the fact that his knee was flaring up again, and the fact that he had never learned how to cope with negative emotions without drinking heavily. He’d had just enough to make calling seem like a good idea, but not enough to forget the message he left.

“Seriously? After everything? You fucking ghost me and take a whole ship? What, did you think you were _protecting me_ or something? You _left me,_ Mac. They’re going after me for whatever bullshit you pulled, and it’s _your fault._ ”

He hated himself for calling. He hated himself even more for sounding sad instead of angry when he asked one last question:

“Where did you go, Mac?”

He didn’t know why he expected a response—maybe it was the alcohol—but he sat there for a solid minute listening to dead air.

Then he hung up and finished drinking himself into oblivion.

It was the last time he’d speak to James MacAllen for years.


	10. you still can't trust macallen. but you can't say that out loud

Barker didn’t like to think that he was like either of his parents. But a combination of nature, nurture, and minimum therapy or other methods of mitigating the first two left him with a mean streak that could rival his mother’s. He could hold a grudge, too, like nobody’s business.

Mac should’ve known that. He should’ve known that just sitting down next to Barker in the bar, years after he’d gone missing, looking older and more tired than he had last time Barker had seen him, wouldn’t end well. But he did it anyway, the stupid bastard.

“Barker,” he said.

“… _Mac_ ,” Barker said, his grip tightening on his glass.

MacAllen looked at him with that old bleeding-heart look, pain and sympathy in his eyes at the sight of Barker already tipsy in the middle of the day. “I know, it’s been a few years.” Barker hummed, the only response he planned on giving, and took a long drag from his glass. “I’m sorry. I know, I left without explaining things.”

Barker didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at him. Hoped that Mac would take the hint.

Mac didn’t take the hint.

“I want to explain things, if I can. But…I need your help with something.”

_Nope._

That comment was what sent him over the edge. When Mac opened his mouth to keep talking, Barker took his glass and slammed it right into the side of Mac’s face.

After that, he got up and ran, not wanting to know what Mac wanted or who he’d brought with him.

Unfortunately, when he ran out the door, he ran right into the leg of a Titan.

And that was how he ended up dragged to the headquarters of the Militia. In his defense, he put up the best fight he could with the level of intoxication he was at.

Mac got a second chance to explain himself once they were at the base and Barker was cuffed to a chair (he’d _really_ made them work for this). Opening with another _I’m sorry I didn’t tell you_ was not the best way to start the conversation. It just made Barker angrier.

“Mac, they held me overnight to ask where you’d been. They thought I _helped._ You ran off with a whole fucking ship and left _me_ to be the fall guy.”

“That’s not what I wanted. I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, well, it’s what happened. So fuck your good intentions.” Barker set his jaw and looked Mac right in his stupid, overly-sympathetic eyes. “You know what? I don’t give a shit where you’ve been. I don’t give a shit why you left. Just tell me what the fuck you want.”

Mac didn’t say anything for a long time.

When he spoke, he explained his plan. Barker laughed in his face.

Go after a _super carrier?_ Then go to the _Boneyard?_ Were these people _trying_ to die? Barker hadn’t planned on helping. No way in hell.

But then they took out the _Sentinel._

Then Barker knew he had to make a choice.

He was pissed at Mac, sure, so pissed that he only spoke to him when absolutely necessary. But he was just as pissed at the IMC. He might’ve cared less now that he’d thoroughly re-pickled his ability to do so with shit Frontier moonshine, but…again, that mean streak. That ability to hold a grudge.

He was probably going to die, but if he was going to, at least he could give them one good poke in the eye before he went.

But Barker didn’t die. Not at the Boneyard, not when they took down the airbase near Demeter. Barker didn’t let himself hope, but he would be kidding himself if he said he wasn’t pleased with the current results. Even if they died in the final push, they would’ve given a _hell_ of a poke.

Any good mood he might’ve had flew the coop when Mac cornered him before the battle.

“I’m going down there,” Mac said quietly.

Barker narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare ask me to come down there with you,” he said immediately.

“No, no, I’m not doing that. I’ve asked enough of you.” Mac sighed. “Barker, I didn’t tell you…I didn’t tell you where I was going because I didn’t plan any of it. Not in advance. I’d had enough, and…I saw a shot to get out and I took it. And once it was done, I couldn’t get in contact with you safely. I didn’t mean to leave and I didn’t mean to let you take the fall in any way. But I should have done something. You have every right to be mad at me.”

“Damn right I do.” Barker crossed his arms and glared. “What do you want me to say? Everything is _good?_ I trust you now? Because that isn’t going to happen. I _don’t_ trust you, Mac. I can’t.” He never should have, but he wasn’t going to say that. “I can put this shit past us…” And he was surprised to find he _meant_ that. “…but things aren’t going to be the same. And nothing you say can fix that.”

“…I know.” Mac sighed heavily. “I understand.” He didn’t, but Barker wasn’t going to argue. “For what it’s worth, I trust _you_. And I’m glad you’re out here with us.” Mac smiled, and for a second he looked like the old Mac. The Mac who thought they could do some good out in the ass end of the universe. It reminded Barker why they had been friends once. “It didn’t feel right without you having my back.”

Barker wanted to say that Mac was trying to manipulate him, but that wasn’t Mac’s style. He really meant that shit.

_Damn it, Mac._

“Yeah, well, should’ve come and gotten me sooner if you missed me so fucking much,” Barker grumbled. “You’re buying me a drink when this is over, you dumb bastard.”

It was forgiveness, or something like it. As much as Barker could give at the moment.

Barker only had himself to blame for what happened next.

There was nothing he could have done about the actual _situation;_ he wasn’t so stupid or egotistical as to beat himself up for things out of his control. But he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. He shouldn’t have assumed things would go well. Just because they’d been lucky for the past few weeks didn’t mean they’d be lucky forever.

And he _really_ should’ve known Mac would do something stupid and boneheaded like kill himself to finish the job.

Barker tried to stop him; the second he knew what Mac was trying to do, he started hailing him on the coms. Screamed at him to get the _fuck_ out of there, stop being a hero, _stop it, you dumb fuck._ But Mac didn’t listen. He talked to Graves, trying to bring him to their side. Even when he was in that chamber, _dying_ , he was talking to Graves and telling everyone it had been an honor serving with them.

Mac patched into Barker’s private coms just as Barker was saying some very unkind things about the man’s mother.

Barker wished he couldn’t remember the conversation. Wished he’d been drunker than he was, so the memories would fade. But he remembered. He remembered every damn word.

“Sorry, Barker. I don’t think I can get you that drink.”

“ _Fuck_ you, Mac!”

“I’m sorry for everything.”

“ _Stop apologizing and get to the extraction point!”_

“It’s too late. You know it’s too late. I know you’re still mad at me, you’ve got no reason to listen but…” His voice was weak. Barker remembered that clearly, too. “…don’t give up on this. Don’t give up on these people. We can do this. I know it.”

“Damn it, Mac, _don’t do this to me._ Don’t…”

_Don’t leave me again._

“I’m sorry. Give ‘em hell for me.”

That was the last thing he said before the facility exploded. The last time James MacAllen ever said to Robert Taube.

Barker was _pissed._ And he stayed pissed for a long time.

Because while the rest of the Militia mourned, all he could feel was anger. Anger at Mac having done something so bone-headed. Anger that Mac had the nerve to _leave him again._ It was irrational, and stupid, but it was easier to be angry than to mourn. Easier to hate him for this than to recognize that it was necessary. Easier to roll his eyes and slam down another drink when they named an entire ship after Mac than to be sensitive of what that man meant to the Militia.

Barker was used to pain. He was used to being disappointed. Having his best friend let him down with his dying breath _hurt_ , but at least it was a familiar pain. Mourning, he couldn’t handle. Missing Mac, he couldn’t handle.

So he drank and nursed his anger until those feelings choked and withered.

Barker moved on, eventually. Despite himself, he took some of Mac’s advice; he didn’t work _for_ the Militia, but he worked with them with only a few questions and occasional complaint. He surrounded himself with people whom he didn’t trust unreservedly, but who he knew had some measure of loyalty to him because he was paying them. He started pursuing the one thing that had interested him about this place: the various structures left behind by the aliens that had lived there first.

He tried not to think about Mac.

And that was the reason why, five years after Demeter, he was still angry.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm screechthemighty on tumblr. Angel City Elite or die, bitches.


End file.
